A Place to Call Home
by odd-gelato
Summary: Martha Brandgás is a social worker who has been around for a long time, and seen a lot of things. But she's never seen anything like the Mallards.
1. Gosalyn Mallard

_you have no idea how relieved i am to finally be posting this chapter! this is an au based off a post i made a while ago. i was originally just gonna write a short fic about it, but then it kinda... got away from me. there isn't really a plot or anything, and i don't have a set ending for this. i'm just a sucker for "outside looking in" stories, and there's a few different areas of the show i want to cover from that perspective. i realized when i started writing that i wanted the social worker to be a source of support rather than one of stress, so this is actually going to be pretty different from the original post i made. i hope you're ready for a fic that consists almost entirely of characters talking about their feelings, because here we go!_

 _(you can also find some art i've already done for this fic at my tumblr art-gelato under /tagged/aptch.)_

* * *

Chap 1: Gosalyn Mallard

It was a nice house, in a nice neighborhood. The lawn was green and neatly manicured, and the house was painted a perfectly acceptable (if bland) shade of pale yellow. In the driveway was an old brown station wagon that had seen better days. It was the only thing there that didn't look brand new.

Martha Brandgás walked with purpose up the cement walkway to the front door and knocked. Inside, she heard a muffled, "Oh, _drat_ ," then clattering and a thud, followed by a much less G-rated expletive. After a second, the door swung open to reveal a short, slightly out-of-breath duck, who she recognized from the file as Drake Mallard.

He quickly readjusted his rather ugly sweater vest, then put on his best smile and stuck out the hand that wasn't in a cast. "You must be Ms. Brandgás," he said. "Drake Mallard. It's nice to meet you."

She shook his hand. "The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Mallard," she replied. "And just 'Martha' is fine."

"Right. Martha." Drake cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "You're, uh. You're early."

"I'm always early," she said. "Shall we begin?"

Drake swallowed and shot a nervous glance over his shoulder before looking back at her. "We've only been here a week, so we're still just settling in. Things aren't as… tidy as they could be."

"I guessed as much from those roller blades you tripped over just before you answered the door," Martha said, gesturing past him at the clearly visible skates strewn across the hallway floor. A crutch was lying abandoned next to them.

Drake's smile grew weaker by the second. "You're very perceptive."

"It's my job," she replied, then angled her head forward a little. "May I come in?"

"Right. Right. Sorry." Drake moved aside, and Martha walked through the entryway. He shut the door and followed her.

The interior was just as pleasant as the exterior – or it would be, once all the boxes were gone. Martha navigated around the skates and went into the living room, where she saw a little girl with a helmet and a hockey stick, winding up to hit a puck.

" _Gosalyn_!" Drake barked, then flinched when Martha looked at him. "Sweetie," he said through gritted teeth. "What did we say about playing hockey in the house? _Especially_ _today_?"

Gosalyn Mallard (née Waddlemeyer) rolled her eyes. "Not to," she muttered.

Drake limped over to her and held out his hand. Grumbling, Gosalyn relinquished the stick and tossed her helmet onto one of the armchairs. She finally turned her attention to Martha, assessing her with narrowed eyes.

"Gosalyn, this is Martha," Drake said, leaning on the hockey stick to take pressure off one of his legs. "She's our new social worker." When Gosalyn didn't respond, Drake sighed. "Why don't you have a seat?" he asked, gesturing to the couch. "Launchpad should be here in a moment with some lemonade."

Martha set her briefcase down on the coffee table and sat on the couch, folding her hands in her lap. "Launchpad?"

Drake moved Gosalyn's helmet to the side table and sank into the armchair. "He's a friend who's been staying with us to help," he replied.

As if on cue, a new, cheerful voice said, "I'm always happy to lend a hand!" A tall, well-built duck entered the living room, carrying a tray with four glasses of lemonade on it. He set the tray down on the coffee table, next to Martha's briefcase. "Ms. Brandgás, right?"

"Martha," she replied, standing up to greet him.

His hand almost completely enveloped hers as he gave her a warm shake. "Launchpad McQuack," he said. "It's real nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too," she said, flexing her hand to work the feeling back into it after being released from his over-enthusiastic grip.

Launchpad sat in the other chair, and Gosalyn hopped up onto the armrest next to Drake. Martha noted how comfortable Gosalyn seemed – she'd expected a bit of tension, since Gosalyn had only been adopted a week ago. It usually took time for a child to adjust to a new home, but Gosalyn settled beside Drake like she'd known him for years.

Drake glanced at Launchpad, then Martha. "We were actually thinking about making Launchpad's residence here a bit more permanent," he said. "That… won't be a problem, will it?"

Martha looked at Launchpad. Despite his size, he was possibly the least threatening person she'd ever met. He had an "everybody's friend" vibe about him, and he smiled with a sincerity that was hard to find in most people. "Well, I'll have to do a background check on you, Mr. McQuack," she said. "How long have you two known each other?"

They both paused to do some mental math. "A few weeks," Drake replied first, while Launchpad was still counting on his fingers, face creased in concentration. "I met L.P. a couple of days before the accident, and he kept me company in the hospital. Then he helped with house-hunting, since I can't drive like this."

"Accident?"

"I got hit by a car," Drake said. "Driver took off before anyone could get his plate or anything. Launchpad's the one who got me to the emergency room."

"I see," Martha said.

Gosalyn shifted impatiently on her perch, obviously bored with this conversation. Martha decided it was time for a different line of questioning anyway. "Gosalyn," she said. "How do you like it here?"

Gosalyn looked at Drake out of the corner of her eye. "It's alright, I guess," she said casually.

Drake's posture stiffened at her tone, horror slowly creeping into his expression. He knew exactly what was coming next, and it wasn't going to be anything good.

"Y'know, when he remembers to feed me," Gosalyn continued. "I'd like a bed, but a pile of blankets in the corner is fine, too. And-"

Drake clamped a hand over her beak, laughing nervously. "Kids and their humor," he said, giving Martha a desperate look. Then he yelped and jerked his hand away from Gosalyn. "Did you just _lick_ me?" he exclaimed.

Gosalyn burst out laughing so hard she fell off the armrest. Drake scrambled to catch her and accidentally hit his cast-bound arm against the chair, which hit him in the ribs in turn. He let out a strangled wheeze. Still giggling, Gosalyn climbed back onto her original spot.

Martha pinched her brow. "Please understand," she said, "that I have to take everything you say seriously."

"Oh, I'm very serious," Gosalyn said, forcing her smile down with some success. "I've never made a joke in my life."

Drake gripped Gosalyn's shoulder. "Gos," he murmured. " _Please_."

Something in Drake's voice gave Gosalyn pause, and she searched his face. After a taut moment, Gosalyn looked at Martha. "Sorry," she said. "It's actually really great here. Drake cares about me a lot, and Launchpad is fun to have around."

Drake let out a shaky sigh of relief, and he gave Gosalyn's shoulder a grateful squeeze before pulling away. "I can give you a tour of the house, if you like," he said to Martha.

"I think that's a good idea," Martha said, standing up.

Drake moved to push himself out of his chair, then winced and sat back. Launchpad helped Drake to his feet, while Gosalyn retrieved the crutch from the hallway. Now able to move with more ease, Drake led the way out of the living room.

There wasn't much to the first floor besides the living room, just the kitchen and a bathroom. The kitchen counters were stacked with newly-bought dishware and appliances, some of which hadn't even been unboxed yet.

The second floor had three bedrooms and a bathroom. One was obviously Gosalyn's – there were already clothes and sports equipment spilling out of overturned boxes, as well as stacks of comic books and DVDs on the desk. Launchpad's room was also easy to identify, if the boxes labeled "LP" and the myriad of family photos and aviation posters were anything to go by. The third room had to be Drake's, but the only way to tell was by process of elimination. It was mostly empty except for a bed and a couple of unopened boxes along the wall, with no personal touches whatsoever. Martha wondered if maybe he just hadn't finished moving in all his things, but judging by how far along the other two rooms were, she had the feeling this _was_ everything he had.

When the tour was over and they'd returned to the living room, Martha said, "Before I go, I'd like to speak with Gosalyn in private for a moment."

Drake swallowed and nodded. "Of course," he said. Then he looked down at Gosalyn and muttered, " _Be good_."

Gosalyn rolled her eyes at him, then followed Martha into the kitchen. Martha sat down at the table, and Gosalyn plopped into the chair opposite her, a sullen look on her face.

"So, Gosalyn," Martha said. "I know that you were only kidding earlier, but it's my job to make sure you're safe and cared for here. In the future, I'd appreciate it if you didn't make jokes like that." She glanced towards the kitchen door and added wryly, "And I think Drake would appreciate it as well."

"Fine, whatever," Gosalyn said.

Martha reached into her briefcase and pulled out Gosalyn's file. "As I understand it," she said, laying the folder on the table, "you gave your previous case worker quite a lot of trouble."

Gosalyn crossed her arms, slouching in her chair. "Miss Williams was stupid," she muttered. "And mean. She only acted like she was nice, but I could tell she hated me."

"Hm." Martha shuffled around a couple of papers. Sarah Williams was well-known around the office for her insincerity, as well as her impatient and judgmental attitude. Martha was loath to speak ill of a coworker, but… "I've met her a few times. After reading your file, I don't think she was an ideal match for you."

Something sparked in Gosalyn's eyes, and she leaned forward. "So you hate her, too!"

"It would be unprofessional of me to admit to that," Martha replied, a conspiratorial smile tugging at the corner of her beak.

Gosalyn grinned. "You might be alright after all, Martha."

"High praise." Martha rested her chin in her hand. "Will you speak honestly with me?"

Trepidation crept back into Gosalyn's expression. "What do you want to know?" she asked cautiously.

"I mostly just have questions you've answered before," Martha said. "They'll bring back bad memories, and I'm sorry for that, but a file can only tell me so much and I want to be as up-to-date as possible. However, if you become too uncomfortable, let me know and we can talk about something else. I'm here to help, not make you miserable."

"You want to know about my parents and Grandpa," Gosalyn said flatly.

"Yes, to start with."

Gosalyn stared down at her hands, clenched in her lap. "There's nothing new to tell."

"Maybe not about what happened," Martha said. "But my job is also to assess your emotional wellbeing."

Gosalyn rolled her eyes. " _Oh_ , you're going to ask me how I _feel_."

Martha sighed internally. It was clear from the file that no one who handled Gosalyn following her grandfather's death had been particularly fond of her. Most notes focused on her misbehavior and stubbornness, and Martha knew she was going to have a hard time repairing the trust damaged by her predecessors. She decided to start by telling Gosalyn something probably no one in Martha's position had told her before. "Gosalyn," she said. "Right now, the absolute most important thing _is_ how you feel."

Gosalyn blinked. "Huh?"

"You've been through quite a lot, especially for someone your age," Martha said gently. "I want to make sure you don't have to go through more. So, how do you feel?"

Gosalyn was quiet for a while, frowning at the table. "I don't remember mom and dad very well," she finally said, "so I don't miss them a whole lot. But… I sometimes do, I guess. Kids at school made me feel weird about not having parents. I had Grandpa, though, and he made me feel better. He was really busy, but he always made time for me. He would sing me lullabies every night, no matter what. It was hard to sleep after he died, because he wasn't there to sing." Then she snapped her beak shut, hunching her shoulders. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she furiously rubbed them away. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"That's fine," Martha replied. "Can we talk about Drake?"

This brought back a bit of a smile. "Drake is… good," Gosalyn said. "He's strict and kinda shouty, but he's really good. No one's cared about me this much since Grandpa, and he understands me. He says he doesn't do lullabies, but he will if I ask."

"You seem very comfortable around him," Martha said. "I must admit, I'm a little surprised, considering you haven't known him for long."

Gosalyn seemed to think over her next words carefully. "He… makes me feel safe. And he doesn't think of me as a problem child like everyone else does. I know he'd risk his life for me."

Martha absently tapped her pen against her notebook. Gosalyn was earnest, and from what Martha had seen so far, Drake certainly cared quite a bit for the girl. But to have bonded so deeply in such a short time… It was definitely a good thing, but very unusual. Direct questioning wouldn't get her the answers she wanted, because it was likely something they wouldn't be able to explain themselves. No, the way to find out was through patience and observation. "Thank you for your honesty, Gosalyn. There's just one last thing I wanted to talk to you about. Right before you were adopted, I hear you had quite the adventure."

Immediately, Gosalyn lit up. "Oh, yeah! It was way cool! Criminal masterminds, superheroes, car chases – like right out of a comic book!"

Martha arched an eyebrow. The police had recorded their interview with Gosalyn about the incident atop St. Canard Tower, and she'd had a much different attitude about it then. A few weeks seemed awfully fast to go from giving half-hearted details to excitement. "So, you weren't scared at all?"

"Well, I guess there were _some_ scary parts," Gosalyn admitted grudgingly. "But mostly it was cool."

"You did essentially watch someone die, though," Martha said. "How do you feel about that?"

"Taurus Bulba was awful and I don't feel bad for him at all," Gosalyn replied, lifting her chin defiantly.

"What about Darkwing Duck?"

Gosalyn froze. "What about him?"

"I watched your interview with the police," Martha said. "It sounded like you cared about him a lot. Losing him must have been hard."

A split second of hurried calculation crossed Gosalyn's expression. "Yeah, well," she said, her tone a little too casual. "At first, I thought he _did_ die. But then I realized he's _way_ too awesome for that. Superheroes have close calls all the time, but they always make it out. He's probably just recovering somewhere, and he'll be back in action soon."

Martha hesitated. On one hand, she was worried about giving Gosalyn false hope about the fate of her hero, and the long-term effect that might have when Darkwing didn't resurface. One the other hand, while Taurus Bulba's body had been found, Darkwing Duck's hadn't. "Alright," Martha said at last, returning the file to her briefcase. "That will be all for today, then. Thank you again, Gosalyn."

Gosalyn hopped out of her seat, and the two of them left the kitchen together. In the living room, Drake and Launchpad were holding a whispered conversation that ended the second Martha came into sight. Drake glanced between Gosalyn and Martha anxiously, searching for any sign that something had gone wrong.

Martha gave him a small smile. "Things look pretty good here," she said. "I'd like to check in again in another couple of weeks. I want Gosalyn enrolled in a nearby school by then, since September is coming up soon." She looked at Launchpad. "I'll run a background check on you, Mr. McQuack, and you'll need to come in to my office to sign some paperwork."

"You got it," Launchpad replied with a thumbs-up. "And just call me 'Launchpad'. Mr. McQuack is my father."

"Launchpad it is," Martha said. "I'll check my schedule to see when I'm available, then get in contact with you." She turned to Drake. "It was good to meet all of you."

"Thanks for coming," Drake said, shaking her hand in farewell. "See you next time."

He was obviously eager to see her go, and Martha had the feeling that, were he not apparently terrified of her, Drake would be all but pushing her out the door. She bid them all goodbye and headed out.

On the drive back to her office, Martha contemplated her new clients. They were an unlikely collection of people, and she couldn't shake the feeling there was something strange going on. Whatever it was, though, it didn't seem bad, and it also didn't seem like the kind of mystery she could solve in a hurry. Eventually, she'd figure it out.

She was nothing if not patient.


	2. Launchpad McQuack

_boy howdy this chapter ended up being longer than i thought it would be, AND harder to write. yeesh. thank you so much to the folks who commented, you really helped me power through. i'm really glad i'm not the only one enjoying this!  
_

 _anyway, if you like what i do and want to support me, i now have a ko-fi! and if there's something specific you want me to write, i'm also doing commissions! (links for both are in the description of my tumblr art-gelato)_

* * *

Chap 2: Launchpad McQuack

A paper airplane floated across the room and did a nosedive into Martha's fortunately empty coffee mug. Martha looked at it, then at the small office's other occupant.

Ted Higgins, a grey duck in his mid-thirties, punched the air. "I can't believe that worked!" he said. "How many points?"

"Zero," Martha replied, picking up the plane. "Don't you have something you should be doing?"

Ted dropped his head to his desk and groaned. With a flick of her wrist, Martha sent the plane gliding back. It skidded over a stack of papers and bumped to a stop against the top of Ted's beak. He half-heartedly flicked at it with one finger.

Martha stood up and grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair, and Ted lifted his head curiously. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Duckburg," she replied as she shrugged the jacket on. "I have a meeting with a client's former employer."

"Ooh, field trip," Ted said, propping his chin in his hand. "Bring me back a souvie?"

"Only if you promise to get work done while I'm gone," Martha said with an exaggeratedly serious look at him.

He put his right hand over his heart and held up three fingers. "Scout's honor, Ma."

Martha retrieved her keys and picked up her briefcase. "I'll hold you to that, Teddy," she said, heading for the door.

Ted waved goodbye. "Drive safe, Marty."

Giving him a smile, Martha stepped out into the hallway, letting the door swing shut behind her. She'd known Ted for as long as he'd been a social worker, which was coming up on six years now. Despite the differences in their personalities and the fact that she was about twenty years his senior, they'd gotten along well from the start – which was fortunate, considering they had to share an office space. Especially since the office was so small.

But, well, that was just underappreciated government work for you.

* * *

Martha didn't have to double-check the address to make sure she was in the right place, and hadn't even really needed a map to get there. Scrooge McDuck's Money Bin was both unmistakable and unmissable.

When she entered the lobby, the first person she ran into was a young girl, perhaps around Gosalyn's age.

"Oh, hello!" the girl said, smiling at Martha. "Are you here to see Uncle Scrooge?"

Martha blinked down at her. "Yes, I have an appointment."

"Great!" the girl replied, and held up a brown paper bag. "I'm bringing him lunch so he doesn't forget to eat, you can come with me!"

"Shouldn't I check in with reception?" Martha asked, but it was too late. The girl grabbed Martha's hand and began towing her towards the elevator.

"You're with me, so it's fine," the girl said as she pressed the button to call the elevator. The doors opened almost immediately. "I'm Webby, by the way. What's your name?"

"Martha," Martha said, following Webby into the elevator. "Mr. McDuck is your uncle?"

"Not actually." Webby hit the button for the top floor. "My granny's his housekeeper. But he said I could call him Uncle, so I do. What are you here to see him for?"

"Just… business stuff," Martha said.

Webby nodded in understanding. "Uncle Scrooge has a lot of business stuff," she said.

They reached the top floor quickly, and Webby ran out ahead of Martha and burst through the large double doors at the end of the hallway with a shout of, "Good afternoon, Uncle Scrooge!"

The elderly duck standing in front of a bookcase inside nearly dropped his book in surprise. "Good lord, Webby," he said, placing the book on the shelf. "Ye scared me half to death."

"I brought lunch!" Webby said, seeming not to hear him.

Scrooge McDuck accepted the paper bag when Webby held it out to him. "I suppose I haven't eaten since breakfast, have I," he mused. "Thank you, Webbigail."

Webby beamed up at him. "No problem! Also, your next appointment is here."

"My-?" McDuck looked to where Martha was standing in the doorway. "Didn't ye check in with reception?" he asked rather crossly.

"I would've, but I didn't get the chance," Martha replied with a small gesture to Webby.

"I brought her with me," Webby said happily.

McDuck glanced down at his honorary niece, his irritation fading. "I appreciate the, uh, _initiative_ ," he said gently, "but next time, let the receptionist do her job, alright?"

"Alright!"

"Good lass. Run along now, and I'll eat this in a bit."

After Webby scampered off, Martha said, "She's a sweet girl."

"Aye, and strong willed, at that." McDuck beckoned Martha into the office, settling behind his desk. "Have a seat, Ms. Brandgás."

"Thank you for taking the time to meet me, Mr. McDuck," Martha said, sliding into the chair in front of his desk.

"It's no trouble," McDuck replied. "It's certainly a welcome reprieve from endless board meetings. And, well, I have to admit this is all rather interesting. Launchpad is adopting a little girl…?"

The slight incredulous note in the old duck's tone wasn't lost on Martha. "No, but he's moving in with someone who is."

McDuck snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes! Drake something or other, wasn't it?"

"Drake Mallard," Martha said. "You already know?"

"Oh, aye," McDuck said, somewhat resignedly. "Launchpad sends me letters once a week, telling me all about whatever nonsense is going on with him. Trouble is, coherent writing's nae exactly one of his strong suits." He sighed and added, "Just d'nae tell him I actually read them, or he'll start sending me _more_."

Martha smiled inwardly. "Launchpad seems like more than just a former employee to you."

McDuck shrugged. "He may as well be part of the family. I first hired him when he was… oh, eighteen? He was cheap and out of his heid – so, perfect for the job. Then the boys came along, and they took to him straightaway."

"Boys?"

"Me nephews," McDuck replied. "They've been living with me these past few years. I can tell ye for certain that Launchpad is good with kids. I've trusted him with their lives on numerous occasions, and he's never let me down."

At this, Martha's brow furrowed. "Their lives? What exactly was his job with you? I was under the impression he's a pilot."

"In a loose sense of the word," McDuck said with a grimace. "But yes, he is. He's flown me to just about every corner of the globe, and quite a few unlikelier places as well. I made most of my fortune treasure hunting, and ye cannae do that without facing some danger and making some mortal enemies. Launchpad was invaluable by my side in every perilous situation we ended up in. His brain's empty enough to have an echo in, but he's a reliable lad."

"Then why let him go?"

McDuck sighed. "Lately, I've had to focus more on the _business_ aspect of my business," he replied. "It hasn't left me much time for adventuring, unfortunately. I couldnae just keep Launchpad on indefinite standby – he gets restless with naught to do after a while. I've called him up a couple of times since to take me somewhere, but I d'nae have the heart to keep him cooped up here when he could be getting on with his own life." A small smile twitched at the corner of his beak. "He seems to be doing rather well for himself, I think."

Martha thought of the house on Avian Way and its inhabitants. "Yes," she said. "I believe he is."

* * *

Martha spent the drive back to St. Canard deep in thought, with a brief stop to grab a donut for Ted. Her talk with Scrooge McDuck had provided her with far more insight into Launchpad's character than she'd expected to get. Former employers usually just discussed a person's professional merits (or lack thereof), but McDuck seemed to have an almost paternalistic view of Launchpad.

Her initial assessment of Launchpad (amiable, sincere, trustworthy) had been proven accurate, but that was just if he was taken at face value. There was more to him than that, and Martha was starting to get a better view of the whole.

And something nagged at her.

He'd spent more than a decade globetrotting with a world-(in)famous adventurer, and now he was settling down in a quiet suburban neighborhood with a freshly-formed family. McDuck had said that Launchpad got restless without anything to do, and he hadn't had anything to do except repair planes since McDuck retired. Martha knew from experience that when you'd lived a fast-paced life for so long, it was hard to live slower. It might feel like a welcome break at first, but an itch inevitably started, saying _you could be doing more_ – and after a year, someone as energetic as Launchpad was surely feeling that itch. Would moving in with a new family really scratch it?

"I'm always happy to help," he'd said, and Martha didn't doubt it.

But she did wonder if it was enough.

* * *

"Marty, I just met the _cutest_ guy at Starducks," Ted sighed as he set a cardboard cup on Martha's desk.

"Did you now," Martha replied dryly. She popped the lid off the cup and poured the coffee into her own mug, which had _WORLD'S BEST MOM_ stamped on it in flowery letters. "And are you in love?"

Ted sat down at his desk on the opposite side of the room. "I'm going to marry him," he declared, doing the same thing with his coffee.

Martha sipped from her mug. "What happened to Jason from the hardware store?"

"He has a girlfriend," Ted replied mournfully. "Such a shame."

"Isn't that just the way," Martha said, without much sympathy. Ted was a sucker for a pretty face and had a flair for the dramatic, and it was highly unlikely his disappointment ran below surface-level. "So did you actually _meet_ this guy, or just stare wistfully across the room at him?"

"Oh, ye of little faith," Ted said, grinning at her. "I gave him my number, _and_ we're meeting for lunch on Saturday."

Martha arched an eyebrow. "Well, color me impressed," she said.

There was a knock, and then the door to the office swung open. "Hey, Martha!" Launchpad said as he stepped inside. He looked around, and his eyebrows went up in surprise. "Oh, Ted! Hi!"

Ted choked on his coffee.

Martha narrowed her eyes, a suspicion forming. "Have you two met before?"

"Yeah!" Launchpad replied cheerily. "Just a little while ago, at the Starducks on the corner."

Ted swallowed a nervous laugh. "Small world, huh?"

"I'll say!" Launchpad said.

Ted glanced between Martha and Launchpad, seemingly unable to think of a response, so Martha came to his rescue. "Why don't you have a seat, Launchpad?" she said, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk.

Launchpad sat, the old chair creaking a little under his weight. "So you just have some stuff you want me to sign?" he asked uncertainly.

"Pretty much," Martha replied, retrieving a file from one of her drawers and handing it to him. "It shouldn't take too long."

As he accepted the file and a pen, he noticed her mug. "How many kids do you have?" he asked, motioning to it.

"Just Ted," she replied with a wry smile, pointing past Launchpad to her coworker, who had put on a pair of headphones to give them some privacy. "He got it for me as a joke a couple years ago." It was something of a tradition of theirs, giving mugs to each other as presents. The one Ted was currently drinking out of, labeled _OKAY GUY_ , was his most recent holiday gift from her. "Now, if you'll look at the first document…"

Getting the paperwork sorted out with Launchpad took a little longer than she thought it would. While Launchpad was happy to just sign on the dotted line without question (a somewhat worrying trait), there were some aspects she had to make sure he understood, which occasionally involved telling him things more than once and having him repeat them back to her. He was also easily distracted, and enjoyed sharing amusing anecdotes, which were mostly stories about crashes he'd been in – or, rather, crashes he'd _caused_ (another, much more worrying trait).

Still, they managed to get through the meeting, _and_ without crashing anything. "Before you go," Martha said as she took the now filled-out documents back, "there's one last thing I was wondering about. Why are you moving in with the Mallards?"

Launchpad blinked, puzzled. "To help."

"So you've said," Martha replied. "But you haven't known either of them for very long. Moving in with a new family like this… it's a lot of responsibility. You might not be Gosalyn's legal guardian, but you're still going to be looking after her in some capacity. I'm not objecting, but why go to all the trouble for two people who are all but strangers?"

Launchpad looked down at his hands, giving it some serious thought. "Honestly, they're the ones helping me," he said at last, his usually boisterous voice going soft. "Up until a few weeks ago, I was basically living out of the airplane hangar I work in. And ever since Mr. McDee stopped adventuring so much, I haven't really had a whole lot going on in my life." He twisted his fingers together. "Dee- Drake and Gos… They're the best things to happen to me in a while. It's real good of Drake to let me live with them."

Martha contemplated this for a moment. "You met Drake first, didn't you?"

Launchpad smiled. "Sure did," he said, then chuckled. "I don't think he particularly cared for me to begin with, but I _did_ almost knock his lights out before we were properly introduced." It took him a second to realize this called for clarification, and he continued, "It was the middle of the night, and I thought he was trying to break into my hangar. But actually, he- uh, he needed some help getting, um, back into the city. Then we… happened to run into each other again the next day, and then there was the accident, and… well, I guess you could say the rest is history. Funny how things work out, huh?"

It felt like there was more to this story that Launchpad was intentionally skimming over, but Martha wasn't sure how important it was to get the details – or if it was even relevant to anything. Perhaps it was just one more thing she'd find out over time. "It's certainly interesting," Martha said. "You think pretty highly of him, don't you?"

"Oh, he's great!" Launchpad replied, beaming. "I know he acts prickly, but he's really a good guy. His people skills are just a bit rusty." He rubbed the back of his neck, and added rather apologetically, "I'm sure he'll warm up to you soon enough."

"I hope so," Martha said. "Without his trust, I can only do so much to help. But don't worry about it. I'll figure out a way in." She smiled. "It's my job, after all."

At that moment, Launchpad's phone _ding_ ed, and he checked it. "Speaking of jobs," he said, pocketing his phone again, "that was mine. I gotta go, unless there's anything else you need."

"No, that's it," Martha replied. "Thank you for coming in."

"No problemo," Launchpad said, standing up. "See you later, Martha. And see you Saturday, Ted!"

Ted jerked in surprise at being directly addressed, and he looked up from his work, pulling down his headphones. "Oh, yeah! See you, Launchpad."

With one last wave, Launchpad disappeared out the door.

In the silence that followed, Ted fiddled with his pen nervously.

"It's fine, Teddy," Martha said, realizing what was on Ted's mind. "He's my client, not yours."

The tension left Ted's shoulders. "I thought it seemed like shaky territory," he admitted.

"Well, it's not like you met him through me. It was just by chance." Martha drummed her fingers on her desk, staring off into space.

"Hey, Earth to Marty?"

Her attention snapped back, and she looked at Ted, who was watching her with concern.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Martha glanced down at the closed file on her desk. "I'm not sure," she said at last. "There's just something about one of my cases. It all seems fine, but… Well, the thing I'm having trouble wrapping my head around is how _fast_ the girl was adopted." She opened the file, rifling absently through the pages. "It took a week for all the paperwork to go through, _and_ for her to start living with the father."

Ted's eyes went wide. "Like… a week from him meeting the kid?"

Martha nodded.

"Like… one week? She started living with him after _one_ week?"

"Yes, Teddy."

He put a hand to his forehead. "But that… that should take _months_."

"I _know_ , Teddy." Martha sighed and closed the file. "He has all the appropriate background checks and certifications, but he was house-hunting _during_ the process. He's a single parent who did not, at the time, have a fixed abode, and yet the paperwork went through cleanly and quickly. I thought there might have been some kind of mix-up somewhere, but the higher-ups say there's no problem."

Ted frowned in thought. "Is he rich?"

"Hardly," Martha replied. "He does data entry for some agency called Stones Accounting."

Ted perked up. "I read that that company is a front for S.H.U.S.H.," he said, getting a familiar gleam in his eye.

Martha pinched the bridge of her beak. "And on which conspiracy theory website did you read it?" she asked wearily.

"That's not important," Ted replied. "But S.H.U.S.H. _would_ have the power to-"

Martha held up a hand, cutting Ted off. "He isn't on the payroll of a top-secret super-spy organization that may or may not exist, because this isn't a cartoon or a comic book," she said, determined to shut this down before he started drawing diagrams. "And I'd really, _really_ appreciate it if you didn't add any of my clients to your wall of conspiracies."

Ted slouched in his chair. "It's only one corkboard," he muttered.

"A big corkboard," Martha replied. "I've seen it."

Grumbling, Ted returned to his paperwork.

And, without her realizing, Martha's subconscious filed away Ted's words in the back of her mind somewhere.


End file.
